


Like You Would Always Be Alone

by melissmallfic



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, M/M, major angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissmallfic/pseuds/melissmallfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian had been ignoring his phone calls for days and Mickey was on the edge of accepting that he wasn’t coming back at all. But now he's back and in his bed, but things don't feel the same.</p><p>An alternate ending for 5x12. Still sad, just different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like You Would Always Be Alone

Mickey woke up when he felt someone sit on the bed behind him. He assumed immediately that it was Svetlana, back to harass him about something. So he pretended to stay asleep. But then he felt cold knuckles press against the small of his back, a move way too intimate and gentle to come from his wife.

When he flipped over and saw Ian lying there, felt the cold from outside radiating off of him, for a split second he thought he must be dreaming. Ian had been ignoring his phone calls for days and Mickey was on the edge of accepting that he wasn’t coming back at all.

But when it was clear that the boy next to him in bed was flesh and blood, that Ian was back, he lunged on top of him. He kissed him so hard, pressed his entire body against Ian, pushing him down into the mattress as if he could keep him there forever that way. Ian seemed to be allowing it more than participating in the kiss itself. A sharp little pain sprung up in Mickey’s chest at that realization, but he ignored it in favor of slipping his tongue again and again into Ian’s mouth.

After a few minutes of trying to convince himself that Ian was probably just cold and tired, or maybe just wanted to talk, Mickey finally pulled back and rolled off of him. He lay on his side facing Ian and tugged on Ian’s hip until he was doing the same.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he whispered. Ian closed his eyes in response and took a breath that sounded irritated. That sharp pain in his chest spread a little further.

“With my mom,” Ian said, not opening his eyes.

There was some relief in that. That he hadn’t shacked up with some random dude or, worse, someone Mickey knew. But that admission caused something other than relief to flood his system. He was angry, seriously fucking angry. He hated Ian almost as much as he loved him at this point, for leaving and for coming back so casually.

After a few minutes Mickey was convinced Ian had actually fallen asleep. He didn’t move except for the rise and fall of his chest. Mickey was split down the middle with wanting to run his fingers along Ian’s face as gently as he knew how and also needing to grab Ian by the wrist and squeeze as hard as he could, maybe until something broke. But Ian opened his eyes and looked at Mickey, his expression blank and unreadable. The anger dissipated and was replaced with an overwhelming neediness that had tears filling his eyes and his heart pounding.

Mickey wanted to bury his face in Ian’s neck and cry like the baby that there was no longer any sense in denying that he was. He wanted to hold onto Ian and be fucking held. They’d hugged more in the past month than they had in the years they’d been together. He had to actively allow himself to be okay with wanting them now, not shove it down where he used to keep all the feelings he didn’t like, like wanting to be kissed or fuck face to face. And in the same way that he’d burned for Ian to kiss him, he felt absolutely on fire with wanting Ian’s arms around him now. He tried to communicate it with a look, not quite ready to just take or ask for what he wanted. The suspicion that Ian knew exactly what he was asking for but didn’t want to give him hurt badly.

Ian closed his eyes again and Mickey bit down hard on his lower lip. All the worry and fear and sadness of the last few days hit him at once. In a matter of seconds he was actively fighting not to cry. He felt stupid and so goddamned needy, wanting Ian to open his eyes and see how much pain he was in, to try to make it better.

But when Ian was looking at him again he could tell he’d be getting no further relief beyond what came from having Ian back in his bed. He used to be such a fucking pro at hiding his disappointment, but he knew his poker face had crumbled to dust weeks ago, if not longer.

“I’m tired,” Ian said, rolling onto his back and over onto his other side, facing away from Mickey. Mickey felt and heard him toe his shoes off and drop them to the floor. He bit his lip again and blinked, a few tears leaking out. He took in a breath that shook his chest. When Ian’s breathing shifted after a few minutes and it was clear he was asleep, Mickey didn’t force himself to hold the tears back any longer. He buried his face in his hands, his whole body trembling with trying to keep from all out sobbing. He felt like something made of hurt, stitched together poorly with need. Something Ian clearly didn’t want.

When he was worn out and nauseous from crying, he felt sleep start to pull him under, too. Without thinking about it, he shuffled closer to Ian and pressed himself against his back, lips against his neck and arm around his waist. It felt so good he nearly started crying again, but then he was asleep, that old drug of just being close to Ian as reliable as ever.

***

The room was dark when Mickey woke up again. He wasn’t pressed against Ian anymore and he was sad that he hadn’t been awake long to savor how good it felt. He noticed Ian leaning against the wall by the window, smoking a cigarette and looking out into the alley. The window was cracked just a hair, but it was enough that Mickey was shivering a bit. He thought that if their roles were reversed he would have covered Ian up with the blanket first, probably run his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know where these impulses came from, nature and nurture both seeming completely out of the question. But they were there when he was with Ian, that instinct to look out for him, to be sweet almost. He only hated a little how much he liked it.

But Ian had either starved or simply forgotten that same way of being with Mickey. He hadn’t been gentle since he’d been released from the pysch ward, numb with medication. He missed it desperately, kicking himself for all the times he turned down simple affection because it was too fucking gay.

He sat up and rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to warm up and hoping that Ian would get back into bed and share his heat. But Ian’s eyes simply flickered over to him and he nodded to acknowledge that Mickey was awake. Mickey chewed on the inside of his cheek, the disappointment stinging and lingering. He leaned over the side of the bed to scoop up a hoodie he’d tossed there earlier. He pulled it on and sat up against the headboard.

“You okay?” he asked, giving up on Ian offering anything unprompted.

Ian shrugged. “Think I’m gonna head home." 

“What do you mean?” If Mickey had any shame left he would have stopped those words from tumbling out. But to hear Ian call the Gallagher house home after all this time was too much. _This_ was his home, their home.

Ian’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Just. I thought you were back,” Mickey said, feeling awkward. “To stay. Ya know?”

Ian shook his head and took another drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the windowsill. “Nah. I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow though.”

He shut the window and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. Mickey stared at his back in the dim light. He only realized he was crying when he felt something wet run down his chin. He scrubbed his face quickly and sniffed hard to hold more back. But Ian actually turned around at the sound and it was like turning a faucet. He seemed curious to notice Mickey’s tears rather than being moved by them. The embarrassment that came along with that realization just made him cry harder, until he was bent over himself, hands covering his face, and shaking uncontrollably.

He felt the bed shift and looked up just to have hope die in his chest. Ian had simply bent over to finish tying his other shoe. The last, thin strand holding his heart together gave way, and he was convinced the pain could only be it shattering inside his chest. When Ian stood and looked at him blankly, he hated that all he could think about was how much he loved the man in front of him. That he had never and couldn’t imagine ever again loving another person so much. And it killed him that he didn’t know what he’d done to make that same feeling shrivel up and die in Ian. 

“This is it. This is you breaking up with me.” His voice was rough and wet. He wanted Ian to tell him he was wrong, to sit back down and explain everything. 

Ian just shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.” 

“But,” Mickey said, his voice trembling. “I love you.” Ian stared back at him. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Ian frowned. “I don’t know?” Mickey closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Ian anymore, not when this was what he was going to get for it. “I gotta go.”

Mickey steeled himself to open his eyes, but by the time he did it was only to see Ian’s back as he walked out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are what I live for. Find me on tumblr at onlysmallfic.


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